With world on thread - and will stitch in,
with the world on a string – write a poem,
with the world on the subject and to the poem
the widest add a dash.
With women each-on ever caress one,
from every road back home.
No matter how I swear, always under my feet
spinning, spinning ball earth.
With friend-a coin, and with foe-two.
All, as one, dissolve in the grass.
The wind rises in the sunlight,
like misery in my head.
Let the printed mouth vote,
how to crush the eternal people,
if only, for the time being with all the swearing,
the terrestrial ball was turned.
